Okay, I can admit...there IS something I don't quite like about ballroom.

I may have a small problem with the basic rule that the man is s'posed to do all the leading, while the woman does all the following.

Now if ya wanna get dramatic ( and I do, for this point especially), you can expand this to say that the woman must become a puppet on a string and react to the man's every whimsical lead!
Which I actually DO find myself doing since my sadistic dance partner is doing his best to "tame the shrew" on the dance floor. He knows that it irks me, and he enjoys every minute of it, because he knows that I can't really protest!

This is something which offends my sense of feminine independence (if I listen hard enough I can hear a chorus of male schupeses).

I know, I know...I need to get over this, and I will, on the dance floor anyhow.
But at least I can admit it.
They say that's the first step.

C.O.T.

Silly me...I was only fooling myself, I guess. I wasn't sure before, but now I know where we stand. I won't get melodramatic. I'll just move along smartly.
Back to the drawing board.

Right now I feel kinda energetic. Maybe it's the cup of coffee I had about an hour ago...or that I actually got enough sleep last night...or that it's rainy and cool on the outside. Y'know how this weather makes people frisky.
Anyhow, it's a great feeling...quite the opposite from how I felt yesterday, which was hazy and distracted.

C.O.T.

And now, may I present the lyrical stylings of Naolat Kukamunga!

X-Girl by N. Kukamunga

X-girl, X-girl
How I hate your guts.
You sound just like a super-hero
Yes, Champion of the sluts

Faster than a speeding ho
You alway beat me to him.
You wrangle him, entangle him,
Then shift, and leave just ruins.

How did you do that thing you did
That left him so bewitched?
And now, no matter how I try,
Can't seem to scratch his itch.

This doting fool you've left behind,
Can't seem to forget your face,
Even though you've done him wrong.
Such a pity. Such a waste.

He won't trust me because of you,
Ya dirty, triflin' skank
You're the ghost in his head, and the pain in my ass
And since I'm being frank,

I hate that you always get him first
You've read his body like a map
and when I feel I doin' suh'in new
You've always "Been there! Done that!".

Natasha, Jill, Elizabeth...
You have so many names,
But whatever form or shape you take,
It's always the same game.

I see right through your angel act
Doesn't matter what you're called,
To me, you're forever the "X-girl:
Most Hated Bitch Of All"

The End.

Dear Diary,

Last night I found myself in a kind of awkward scenario.

I was liming with a bunch-a peops, including Mr. Push-up King (let's call him P.K. for short, shall we) from previous blogs. His girlfriend was also present as usual and somehow the topic of conversation got around to my personality. And P.K.'s contribution was to start comparing me to his girlfriend, while she was sitting right there!
Listening to him, one would get the impression that I'm the Queen of Light, while she's the Princess of Darkness!
As flattering as that was for me, it still wasn't a cool thing for him to do.

I, of course laughed it off, as did everyone else, but she just kinda glared at him in that "no-nookie-for-you-tonight-buddy" kind of way.

Now this heffer is the jealous sort, and I ALREADY think she finds me annoying as it is, so NOW I get the feeling that I may have to keep my eyes open around her.

Lovely. Just lovely. Now I'm torn between 2 possible courses of action:

1.)Try to avoid talkin' to P.K. more than necessary out of respect for her boundaries, or
2.) Say to hell with her irrational jealousy and ask him to dance next time I see him (my Part B tends to prefer this option).

Oh, what the hell. This is their problem, not mine.

I must say this's been a fairly pleasant weekend, no major drama or anything. But then again...this is me I'm talkin' about. Major drama is just not a part of my life.

I finally went out on that movie date with the weirdo on Friday night. Afterwards I told him that I didn't feel any chemistry between us, and that we didn't seem to have much in common. He seemed cool with that.

However, the unexplained appearance of a hickey-like bruise on my neck the next morning leads me to believe that he may have drugged me at some point during the evening.

Geez, I really hope this is a rash.